


On your feet

by Nimbus_Cloud



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:04:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2480681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimbus_Cloud/pseuds/Nimbus_Cloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reply to Tumblr prompt send by an anonymous person:</p><p>"Commander!Jean/Corporal!Mikasa and their last sex before one of them gets killed by titans."</p>
            </blockquote>





	On your feet

Left jab, right jab, right hook, roundhouse kick. Mikasa’s stuffed, cylindrical opponent swung helplessly from its chain, the metal joints whining from the strain. She heard the creaking chains as synonymous with pained cries, and envisioned the faces of her enemies onto the worn grey canvas.  It made her blows harder, her attacks fiercer.  Whether they were human or titan, she would slaughter them all.  Every.  Last. One. 

 _Breathe easy_ , she thought.  _Inhale through the nose, exhale with the attack. Keep the core tight. Elbows in_. _No mercy._

“Am I going to have to write a new punching bag into the budget?” Jean teased as he entered the gym, leaning his body against the doorframe as he watched her training.  “Wanna ease up there?” 

“I haven’t broken this one yet,” Mikasa panted, taking the momentary break to shake out her legs and arms, and briefly brush the fringe of her hair out of her face.

“ _Yet_ being the keyword.”

A nonchalant shrug was the only response as she resumed pummeling dents into the sandbag.  Two right jabs, a left hook, followed by a swift right uppercut. A deep breath to recover before her next strike, which collided into a considerably more grounded target. Jean’s two-toned hair popped into her field of vision from behind the bag as did the whites of his teeth when he grinned.

“How about a round with me?” 

Her response flew toward his face with astonishing speed, which he dodged by a narrow breath.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he huffed as he brought up his arms to parry her next lunge. 

“Your left is open,” she warned just before her leg went flying toward the aforementioned weakness in his stance.

“Ack!” 

Her foot caught him in the upper arm, knocking him off balance and stumbling to the ground.  It didn’t quite knock the wind out of him, but he could feel his bicep throbbing with the promise of a future bruise.  He’d received plenty of bruises and black eyes and nosebleeds from sparring with her in the past.  All accidental, he liked to think.  But given the tender care he was provided afterward by the same hands that had done the beating, he always found it worth it.  Of course, when the pain was nagging at him, he would wistfully wish that she’d go easy on him at least a little bit.  Alas, she would never pull her punches with him like she always had with Eren.

Somehow, it was a price he was repeatedly willing to pay.

If Eren had been a suicidal bastard, Jean wasn’t sure what that made him in his pursuit of Mikasa Ackerman, considering that the woman had repeatedly proven herself to be far more deadly than any mass of titans.

“You’re distracted,” she released her stance, frowning.

“I can’t help it,” Jean grimaced as he nursed his arm. “You’re distracting me.”

The fury went out of her fists as she caught his eyes roaming over her toned abs, her sweat-beaded forehead, her tensed biceps.

“You’re gonna get killed while you’re staring at my abs.” 

“If I’m killed by you, I think I could die happy.”

“On your feet, Kirstein,” she kicked at his knee playfully. 

“That’s no way to talk to your commander, you know,” he moaned as he pulled himself to a standing position. 

“You told Armin you like it when I talk to you that way,” she put up her fists and grounded her feet, knees kept a shoulder’s width apart. 

“Wait—oof!” 

“Elbows in!” 

“Shit, does Armin tell you everything?!” his ears were swiftly turning a beet red as his elbows did as she commanded. 

“Probably.  I don’t know how much you tell Armin.”  She lightly jabbed at his solar plexus, pleased to find that he had at least tensed his abdominals in defense. 

“I trusted that bastard!”  Jean threw out a counter punch.

“You should know better than that,” she smacked his wrist away as she turned on her forward foot, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him off his feet, throwing his weight over her hips and flinging him onto the mat five paces away. 

“Ughh…”

The damage was both external and internal for poor Jean. When he thought of all that he had ever confided to that smug, baby-faced blond…

“You should probably thank him, actually,” she shook out her knuckles.  “With him telling me all your sexual preferences—“

“Stop stop stop!!”  he covered his ears and shut his eyes.  “Wait,” he sprang to a sitting position after a brief pause, “He never tells me about anything _you_ tell him!”

“That’s because I don’t tell him anything.” She crossed her legs to sit down across from him and began unwrapping the bandages around her knuckles. “If I have a fantasy I want to try, I just tell you.” 

_Get on your knees._

_No talking, hands behind your back._

_You keep the bolo, I’ll keep the scarf._

_On the desk. Now._

The truth colored his ears a bright pink and he let out a cough. 

“Well… so this makes the five thousandth time I’ve lost to you, probably.”  He tousled his hair, undoing the comb-over.

“Probably more, but who’s counting?” she smiled. “I like your hair like that. You look almost seventeen again.” She rubbed at his evening stubble. “Minus that.” 

“I’m tempted to just leave it. We’re leaving on an expedition tomorrow and we’re gonna end up looking pretty shabby by the end of it anyway.”

“As long as you’re alive, I don’t care how you look,” she insisted.   
“Too heavy, Mikasa!” he laughed, but he took her hand all the same. “I’m right here. Alive and well.”

She tested his claim, pressing her lips to his, insistent. When his lips parted for her, she inhaled the scent of his recent sweat mixed with his cologne and tasted his afternoon coffee on her tongue.  Her hands tugged his shirt upwards, eager to touch his hot skin on her fingertips.

Her hands confirmed that yes, he was here. His quickening breath against her neck affirmed that yes, he was alive. 

And when she straddled his hips and pressed her warmth down onto his firmness, she could verify that he was indeed _very_ well. 

His touch on her skin set her on fire—Eren had always been so clumsy—and his kisses left her wanton.  They both gave silent thanks that neither of them were wearing their 3D gear harness and rapidly disposed of their clothes, mindless of their surroundings.  Soldiers rarely wasted their last night before an expedition training in the gym. Most were out in the taverns if they couldn’t see their families.  They drank deep, laughed hard, and loved fiercely; whatever they could to forget about the coming day. 

Her mind was drifting, so Jean brought it back to him by running his tongue across a nipple, fingers reaching down to the heat between her legs.  Every moan and sway of her hips made his length twitch, aching to be buried inside her and drive them both to their finish.  She moved her hips rhythmically to meet his fingers, teasingly brushing her wetness against his bare manhood.

“Fast or slow?” he whispered.

“Now,” her breathy reply. 

“I don’t have lub—“

“Forget it.  We won’t last long anyway.” 

“Downright poetic, that was—nghh…”

As she had promised, she lowered herself down onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Her kisses were hungry and erratic, her thrusting even more so. 

High, keen whines soon colored her pleasured moans, a rosy flush painted her cheeks.  Watching her gave Jean just as much sensation as the feeling of her around him.

She was right.  They didn’t last long. 

Mere minutes later he was spilling himself between them, panting heavily.  She took his hand and pressed his fingers against her clit after he withdrew, but she didn’t last for too much longer herself. 

“I love you,” he murmured against her shoulder afterwards, holding her tight to him as she tried to pull her shirt back on.

He always said it after they made love, as if he feared she’d leave him if he didn’t, as if saying it would keep them both safe. She didn’t mind. Eren had been the opposite, and though she accepted that of him, it had always left her with a bit of longing. He had left it unsaid right up until he died, he had been so stubborn.  Sometimes Mikasa wondered if Jean said it so much to try and make up for that. The two had always been so competitive.

_Or maybe he’s making up for missed opportunities in the past._

“I know,” she replied, kissing him deeply. “On your feet, Kirstein.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oops I put more sparring and dialogue than sex.


End file.
